


Wrapped around with darkness

by Jothowrote



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas work parties, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: Two Christmas parties held by the staff of the Magnus Institute, a year apart.





	Wrapped around with darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [May](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/gifts).



When it came to Christmas, Martin always went a little overboard. From the first of December, he started to wear his Christmas jumpers into work – and towards the end of the month, he broke out his Santa hat too. He even brought his own decorations in to scatter around the archives, to spread a little seasonal cheer. It was amazing what a few fairy lights and some tinsel could do to brighten up a place, particularly somewhere as dour and dusty as the archives. The rest of the Institute – in the more normal departments, as Martin always thought of them – had a couple of fake Christmas trees dotted around their offices, draped in some ragged tinsel and a few sparse baubles. The effect was very much one of forced cheer, and Martin hated it. 

2015 was the first Christmas the new team – him, Sasha, Tim, and Jon – would have together, and he was determined to make it a good one. It would be good for them, he thought. A chance to bond. Jon was still distant, and a little aloof, and Martin was a little intimidated by Tim’s general good looks and charismatic personality. He mainly talked to Sasha, but even then they never really exchanged much more than polite pleasantries.

Martin arrived early to work on the first of December 2015, an overflowing box of decorations in his arms and a real – although small – pine tree hanging from a rope over his shoulder.

'Looks like Rudolph threw up in here,’ Tim said, when he finally rocked up to the archives. The takeaway hipster-café coffee in his hand smelt strong, and the aroma mixed strangely with the musty pine needles. 'Wait – you got four advent calendars?’

Martin was under his desk, rooting around for the extension lead and trying to plug in the tree lights.

'Course,’ he said, distractedly. 'There’s four of us. A-ha!’

He emerged in triumph, hair a mess and dust all over the front of his Christmas jumper, but the tree lights were on and twinkling in a merry fashion. He looked upon his works and smiled in satisfaction.

'So much better than the decorations up in the library,’ he said, smugly. 

'Thanks for the calendar,’ Tim said, his mouth already bulging with chocolate.

'Oh, I thought we could open our doors… together,’ Martin trailed off at the sight of Tim ripping open more calendar doors, and held in a pained sigh.

A quiet cough from the doorway made them both look up to see Jon hovering awkwardly, clutching a file. Martin was suddenly acutely aware of the dust on his knees and the tinsel in his hair.

'Have either of you seen Sasha?’ he asked.

'I think she said she was getting a coffee from the kitchen,’ Tim said, shrugging.

'Is that a statement?’ Martin asked. `Does it need chasing up? I’m free to do it this morning.’

He wasn’t – he had planned for a whole morning’s decorating, and then he had a backlog of what Tim called 'doss’ statements to sort through and put away. But Jon always seemed to give the interesting stuff to Sasha, or Tim – Martin was desperate to do some actual research.

'No, it’s ok,’ Jon said distractedly, 'I’ll wait for Sasha to get back.’

Martin pushed aside his disappointment and forced a smile.

'What do you think of the decorations?’ he asked, brightly. 

'Hmm, yes,’ Jon said, barely glancing at the real fir pine, now glittering with lights. 'Very… seasonal. Sasha’s in the kitchen, you said, Tim?’ 

'Yeah,’ Tim shrugged.

'Wait, your calendar,’ Martin began, but Jon had already left. He sighed, and tinsel fluttered gently down from his head.

'I don’t know why you try so hard with him,’ Tim said. 'He’s a sour bastard who doesn’t have time for anyone.’

'He likes Sasha.’

'Everyone likes Sasha, Martin.’ Tim popped another calendar chocolate into his mouth. Nearly all the doors on his calendar were open.

Martin didn’t try to hold back his sigh this time.

&

Martin kept up his Christmas cheer as best he could, opening his calendar door every morning when everyone had arrived. Sometimes Sasha would join him, and together they would try and guess what the misshapen lump of chocolate was supposed to represent. Tim’s calendar, already ripped, torn, and plundered of all the chocolate, remained propped up against the bookshelves. Jon’s calendar remained untouched.

There was one glorious day when Sasha somehow strong-armed Jon into opening his along with her and Martin, although he just held the chocolate in a perplexed kind of way.

'We don’t know what it is either,’ Sasha said, comfortingly.

'I think it might be a sack of presents?’ Martin said, holding it up to the light. He turned it upside down. 'But then it could also be Father Christmas from this angle.’

'I’ve never had one with chocolates in before,’ Jon said, staring down at the one in his hand. Martin tensed in excitement – Jon had never talked about himself before, solicited or unsolicited.

But then the moment broke, and Jon shook himself in a fastidious way, like a cat coming in from the rain.

'I need to get on,’ he said, briskly. 'Sasha, how is that research going?’

'Good,’ she said, 'I’ve asked Tim and Martin to…’

'Well, don’t take too long,’ Jon said, and then he was gone.

Martin noted, with triumph, that the chocolate went with him, and later when he snuck into Jon’s office in the evening, the wastepaper bin was chocolate free.

He marked that down as a success.

&

Despite the somewhat lacklustre participation of his colleagues, Martin’s excitement was only dampened, and it grew stronger and fiercer as the Institute Christmas party drew near. It was on the last Friday before the Institute closed for the holidays, and of course all the restaurants nearby had been booked out practically months before.

No one ever got around to organising a proper meal out, so they usually ended up in the upstairs lunch room with a table covered in cheap snacks from the Tescos around the corner and an invitation that said BYOB. Fortunately, most of the institute employees seemed to be heavy drinkers and there was never a shortage of drink, or a lack of choice.

The day of the party found Martin in a good mood. He’d worn his best Christmas jumper – the one that lit up – and had completed the look with a pair of reindeer antlers complete with jingling bell. Jon had winced when they’d met in the corridors, but Martin was used to that reaction after his morning ride on the tube and brushed it off easily.

'Ready for the party tonight?’ Martin asked.

Jon apparently couldn’t decide whether to frown at the antlers or the currently flashing jumper, and ended up just frowning at Martin’s face instead.

'Party?’ he said.

'Yeah, the institute Christmas party,’ Martin said. 'We’re all going – Sasha and Tim and I, I mean.’

'Oh, well,’ Jon said.

'It’s just upstairs – and it’s all free. Well, it’s bring your own, but from Tim had in his bag I think we’ll have enough for next year too!’

Jon was now staring, horrified, at Martin’s jumper. The lights had just begun to flash rapidly.

'Maybe,’ he said, before vanishing into his office. 

Martin assumed that Jon was a lost cause when, at the beginning of the party, he was nowhere to be seen. But Sasha was there, in a much more sedate Christmas jumper and a nice velvet skirt, and Tim was already getting drunk with the assistant librarians.

He had a good time at the Christmas party – perhaps too much of a good time. He was slurring his words by half ten and, when he went to the loo at eleven, the world swam in front of his eyes. He blamed Tim and his tequila shots as he staggered down the corridor.

Going to the toilet made Martin suddenly realise just how drunk he was. He stared for a while at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to focus. It was a strange feeling, being so drunk at work. He giggled, but it sounded weird in the silence of the bathroom, tinny and too loud and harsh. He frowned at his reflection instead. The party had been getting oppressively louder as everyone got more drunk and lost their inhibitions, and now his ears rang in the absence of the noise.

Staggering out of the bathroom and down the corridor, Martin could hear the muffled sounds of people laughing and shrieking and shouting. He tripped over his own feet, managed to catch himself on the wall, but kept the momentum downwards and slumped down to the floor. A wave of misery washed over him, dragging him down below its treacherous undercurrent, and he was subsumed.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, propped up against the wall with his legs out in front of him, head heavy and swaying as he marinated in alcohol and melancholy, but it seemed like both eternity and seconds had passed before he realised someone was calling his name.

Martin looked up, and even through blurry eyes, he recognised Jon.

'You came to the party!’ Martin cried, dragging himself upright, using Jon’s jumper for leverage. They both staggered slightly under his ungainly weight. `I thought you weren’t going to come!’

Jon looked a little panicked, and untangled Martin’s hand from the front of his jumper, but steadied him before stepping back.

'I was working late,’ he said, 'and I thought I’d drop by – are you sure you’re alright?’

'Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine,’ Martin said, waving a hand expansively and almost losing his balance again. 'I’m fine, great! In fact, I’m great! Just dandy, had a bit too much to drink maybe but that’s fine.’

Jon hummed, apparently unconvinced.

‘Sasha said you vanished off to the bathroom and didn’t come back,’ he said.

'You came to check on me?’ Martin said, feeling deeply touched – tears threatened, but he wasn’t so drunk as to cry in front of his new(ish) boss.

'I was going to the bathroom,’ Jon said. 'And you were just sitting… on the floor.’

'I’ve had too much to drink,’ Martin confided. 'Just a bit too much. I always overdo it a bit at Christmas.’

'I’d noticed.’

'Oh, yes – sorry. I just like the happy parts, you know? Doing things together, like opening our calendars. I did want to do a secret santa, but Tim refused and it’s not a secret if there’s only three of you.’ Martin heaved a great sigh. He loved doing secret santas.

Jon seemed a little stunned at the sudden flow of words coming from Martin – Martin had to admit that Jon intimidated him, slightly, and that before now he’d barely said two full sentences to him that weren’t 'yes, I’ll research that statement for you right now,’ or 'I’ve researched that statement you asked me to.’

The alcohol and general malaise had combined to create a kind of manic giddiness that he was having trouble controlling, but he was just drunk enough not to care.

'It’s just – it’s nice, you know? Doing happy things, at Christmas.’ Martin leant closer to Jon, conspiratorially. 'My mum… well. It’s easier to focus on the good stuff, makes the bad stuff feel less… bad. So, I’m sorry. If I was, you know, a bit much.’

'Martin, I think you should go home,’ Jon said, firmly.

It didn’t take much for Jon to strong-arm Martin outside and bundle him into a taxi. Martin woke up the next day still wearing the paper hat from his cracker and a blinding hangover. He could only very vaguely remember the night’s events, and though he could remember talking to Jon, he was a little hazy on what he’d actually said.  
He thought it best to avoid his boss for the next few months, just in case he’d said something completely embarrassing.

&

The lead-up to Christmas in 2016 was a little more subdued than the year before. Martin still brought in four advent calendars with what he later realised was unfounded optimism. His only real ally from the year before, Sasha was distant and spent all of her free time away from the archives with her new boyfriend. Tim was permanently sulky and deep into some kind of self-pitying spiral, and once again ate all of his chocolates on the first day. Jon – well, Jon was a whole other story.

Martin tried – he really did. He opened his calendar every morning, examined the strange chocolate shape, and continued to cycle through his expansive collection of Christmas jumpers in the lead-up to the institute Christmas party, but in all honesty his heart wasn’t really in it. It didn’t help that the atmosphere in the archives was somehow so much worse than he could have thought possible. Tim and Jon were at constant loggerheads, Sasha was absent, and Martin felt trapped.

He’d really, honestly thought that after the whole Prentiss debacle, that they would be brought together as a team. If anything, the whole thing had destroyed what little camaraderie they’d had. Tim had taken it badly, and Jon – well. There weren’t words for how badly Jon had taken it.

Martin had himself been feeling quite sore towards Jon. They’d connected, hadn’t they? Trapped in the office with Prentiss at the door, they’d bonded. Or at least transcended the boss-underling relationship they’d had before. But Jon had sunk into his paranoid funk and pushed everyone away.

They had, at least, had something of a breakthrough. Martin hadn’t wanted to tell Jon his secret, especially since Jon had obviously been expecting a more dramatic reveal. But it felt good to get it off his chest, and when Jon promised that he wouldn’t tell Elias, Martin believed him. 

And Jon had smiled at him, and looked so relieved. It had highlighted just how drawn and pale Jon had been looking recently, and Martin resolved himself to look after the Archivist better.

His heart may have not been entirely in the festivities, but he used it as excellent cover for his Look After Jon Initiative. Once upon a time he would have included Sasha and Tim in his scheme, but neither were really around to ask, and Tim would most definitely refuse outright.

In fairness, Jon had sat outside Tim’s house for quite a long time. Martin felt not a little smug that Jon had at least trusted him enough not to outright stalk his house.  
Christmas meant endless food and drink, and Martin pressed it on Jon at every opportunity. Mince pies, lebkuchen he’d made himself, stollen, all made their way onto Jon’s desk on a little plate with a steaming mug of tea, or coffee – or one evening, mulled wine – and Martin would wait for Jon to fall asleep, head pillowed on his desk or a pile of statements, before sneaking in to take away the used plates and cups. To Martin’s satisfaction, often the plates would be empty.

The Institute Christmas party rolled around with a dreary kind of inevitability. Once again, no one booked a restaurant and instead it was a BYOB affair with a couple of multipacks of Wotsits from the local Tescos. Martin, uncharacteristically, didn’t really want to go. He poked his head in at the beginning of the night, just for appearances' sake, wearing his light-up Christmas jumper and a poor attempt at a smile. Sasha, as usual, was nowhere to be seen, and Tim was laughing raucously with the assistant librarians and resolutely ignoring Martin’s existence.

Martin snagged a mug of mulled wine, strained out the fruit, and returned to his office to get a bit of work done in peace.

He was rudely interrupted at around half ten when Tim barged in.

'He’s causing a scene, and he needs to leave,’ Tim announced. Martin looked at him over his computer monitor.

'What are you on about,’ he said, too flat to be a question.

'Our lovely boss has managed to get mind-numbingly drunk and is having a very loud and obvious mental breakdown in the middle of the Christmas party. You need to go and deal with him, get him home, or something.’

'Why is it my job?’ Martin asked, but he was already getting up from his chair.

Tim didn’t bother to say – they both knew that Martin was the only one still with a soft spot for Jon.

Jon had apparently given up causing a scene and was drinking alone in a corner when Tim and Martin reached the party. He was a miserable sight – Martin knew for a fact that he hadn’t been home for at least three days, and his shirt was looking decidedly rumpled. He was clutching a bottle of something in one hand, and frowning hard at the middle distance. Martin approached carefully.

'Jon? Jon, are you ok?’

He looked up with vague, bloodshot eyes, and it seemed to take him a while to focus on Martin’s face.

'Am I ok?’ he repeated. 'Are any of us ok?’

'That sounds too profound for a Christmas party conversation,’ Martin said. 'Come on – why don’t you sleep this off? You’ll feel better in the morning.’

Jon snorted derisively, but allowed Martin to hoist him up out of the corner and lead him away from the party.

Halfway to the front door, Martin realised that he didn’t know Jon’s address, and Jon was too drunk to tell a taxi driver himself – not to mention that any self-respecting taxi driver would not let Jon in his taxi. So he half coaxed, half dragged Jon’s practically comatose body to the small bed he’d used during the Prentiss institute, and deposited him roughly onto the dusty sheets.

'There we go,’ he said, cocooning Jon’s body in blankets before he could struggle back upright. 'Now get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning.'

Martin made to stand, but Jon’s hand shot out faster than he would have thought possible and grabbed a handful of Christmas jumper, pulling Martin back down until they were nose to nose. His breath was hot on Martin’s face.

'Can’t trust anyone,’ Jon said, bloodshot eyes wide. 'After Gertrude…’

'You can trust me,’ Martin tried, but Jon didn’t seem to recognise him.

'Tim is actively avoiding me now,’ Jon said, in a pantomime whisper, spitting a little on Martin’s face with his vehemence. 'And Sasha is never around. I think…. I think Martin is safe… but I can’t relax. I can’t stop. I need to know.’

'Ok,’ Martin said, gently uncurling Jon’s hands from his jumper and pressing him back down. He felt warm inside at the idea that out of everyone, Jon trusted him the most. 'You’ll feel better in the morning,’ he lied, as Jon’s eyes began to close.

Martin left the Institute shortly after. The party was over – he’d seen Tim leave with one of the assistant librarians around half an hour earlier – and he had lost a lot of his festive spirit. Nevertheless, he left with a spring in his step. He checked on Jon on the way out – dead to the world, mouth wide open and snoring gently – and felt optimistic about the year ahead. Maybe in 2017 they could finally work as a team. Maybe Jon could regain his trust in him, and Sasha and Tim. Maybe things would work out.

Martin had to hope it would.


End file.
